The Butterfly's Wings
by M.D Sora
Summary: How would things have been if Vincent Phantomhive did not die that night? How would Ciel's life had turned out then? A story about a demon who knows more than he should and a dead romance between the Phantomhive patriarch and his death dealing lover.


**Extended Summary:** What if Ciel wasn't the only one who survived that cursed winter night? How would one more saved soul change the course of events fated to occur? Vincent is alive. Ciel is enslaved and tortured before he is saved by a demon who seems to already know everything about him Ciel learns about a past life that has haunted him from his birth.

**Pairings**: Sebstian x Ciel / Vincent x Undertaker.

**A/N:** Typical disclaimers, don't own shit, just the plot xD Many thanks to my beta who was brave enough to decipher the macerated English I gave him xD

* * *

It was the middle of the night, yet the sky glowed bright. The crackle and roar of flames shattered the stillness of the night, the air was hot and thick, a choking scent of burning wood...and human flesh. Hooting cries of glee filled the air as the grisly task was carried out. Tonight would be the end of the Phantomhives.

_"When he returns, you cannot interfere." _

His expression was cold, looking almost disinterested as he gazed at the billowing columns of smoke that rose from the smoldering building. Glass burst and shattered from the intense heat, the windows were like open mouths screaming for mercy as tongues of flames wildly lashed out and writhed. His eyes reflected the turmoil he felt, elongated claws dug into the flesh of his palm and his muscular frame strained to remain still...

_"He can never see you. You must only be a shadow."_

Quietly he leapt from his spot, only a bit closer. Just to make sure. The scene only reminded him of that time, when he lost his world, his purpose of existence, his sanity; his everything. The Phantomhive manor was burning, the once regal and proud structure was crumbling to its foundation. Enormous slabs of marble and stone tumbled down, crushing the blackened roses, whose brims glow a fierce crimson. The sick gleeful laughter of the killers echoed loudly.

The demon did not flinch when he heard the scream of a woman followed by a stomach churning gurgle of blood filling her windpipe as her neck was crushed. Nor did he bat a lash when a man's voice shouted only to be quickly silenced. His sensitive hearing picking up the man's body being thrown down like a broken doll.

"N-no," came a broken whisper, laced with fear and horror. "Get away...d-don't touch me!"

Now that got the demons attention. His cool facade crumbled and a look of pain filled his eyes. His body jerked, drawn to that whisper, that voice which called to him.

"Help me! Please someone help me!"

__

"If you hear him cry for help, you cannot come to his aid." 

"Damnit, kill the brat already, he's whining too much," said a gruff voice.

"I don't know...he's a bit pretty this one," another voice purred. "Here put that over his nose and that sinful little mouth."

The demon felt rage seep into his veins, awakening the senses that had dulled, and his body jerked again, screaming for him to move.

"Please...please help me...anyone ...please" whimpered the child, his voice quivering. There was only a grunt, then a dull thump.

_"What has been lost will never return. He will not be the same. He won't ever remember who you are or what you were to him."_

The demon moved at last, though not toward the manor, he fled into the city. As he ran, he felt a tug at his heart, and a pain filled his chest. It was a pain that sickened him to his core, choked the air from his lungs, and crushed him into submission. It was the pain of a broken heart.

* * *

Sunlight filtered in, casting its light upon a prone figure snuggled amongst a mound of pillows. It was a man; his head was wrapped with soft gauze hiding away locks of ashen blue-grey. His skin was deathly pale, his lips dry and cracked; however, as his chest rose and fell gently it was clear he was alive. Scrapes marred his cheeks and brow, the skin along his collar bone a fleshy raw pink and shiny from where he had been burned.

Eyelids fluttered and slowly opened revealing chocolate brown eyes that gazed around unfocused. He couldn't see, his brain not processing the images but he could hear. He heard the clatter of metal, warbling squeak of wheels, the gentle tap of rubber soles against hardwood. Hushed whispering, pained groans, the sniffling of tears and illness, barely covered coughs...Where was he? His nose twitched a bit, the smell of unnatural sterileness filling his nostrils.

"Dr. Durless! He's coming to!" shouted a shrill girlish voice. There was a clatter then a sound of hurried steps approaching his bedside.

"You! Fetch me fresh dressings," a familiar voice ordered. "And you fetch some water."

"A-Ann?" he croaked his throat constricting causing him to cough dryly and wince.

"Shh," she soothed, and though he could not see her face he imagined she wore a look of comfort. "You gave me a scare, Vincent. For a while I thought that you would not survive the night," her voice quivered. "Close your eyes, I'll bet you can't even see right now. Give your body some time to wake up all the way."

Vincent shut his eyes, grunting softly when he felt hands pulling him up; soft and skilled hands began to change the dressing on his head. For a long while he was silent allowing his sister-in-law to do her job, as he struggled to recall what had happened.

His body tensed as the memories began to filter in; he had heard someone attempting to break in. He'd been in the study with Rachel discussing how their little Ciel was growing up so fast...He'd told Rachel to stay put as he grasped his pistol and as silent as death himself he glided down the hall.

Somehow they had eluded him and he heard Rachel scream. Then the fire started...it was a blur from there. He could only see flashes of his home, his family's pride burning down. He could only hear Rachel's screams then the gurgling guttural rattling of her last breaths. He could see her face as her body was consumed by the flames...then darkness.

The earl suddenly twisted around and retched, his slender frame lurching and trembling as he dry heaved, only splatters of bile coming out. He hunched over motionless as he panted heavily, Madam Red watched him sadly. She knew about her sister, they had asked her to attempt to identify the remains, what little was left.

The woman shuddered as she recalled the charred and blacked skull that greeted her, the skin and muscle all melted away leaving a wide chilling grin on the once beautiful face, the grin of death.

"R-Rachel's gone," he rasped. It wasn't a question, it was merely a statement.

"I'm sorry." Ann whispered, her eyes filling with tears. "They found her first but Vinc-"

"Where is Ciel?" He demanded, cutting her off. He turned around and stared up at her, his eyes still unseeing.

There was a long moment of silence, only broken by soft weeping. Ann cleared her throat and attempted to speak, but only choked whimpers came out. Finally she was able to whisper, "They can't find his body. H-his bedroom...nothing, nothing was left."

She sniffled and clasped her hand over her mouth as if trying to stop the words she did not wish to speak. "It's assumed he burned..." She did not state the obvious fact, if Ciel had been burned, then he had likely been alive. It was too much for the physician; she collapsed to her knees, grief overwhelming her; the loss of her husband, the loss of her unborn child, now her beloved sister and her child. It was swallowing her alive, the darkness.

Vincent felt as if his very soul had been plunged into an icy lake, cold dread washed over him. He couldn't breathe, he could not feel. His family was gone, everything he held dear. Vincent had not loved Rachel, not as a wife...no he had married her out of convenience but she had been his dearest friend.

Ciel...Ciel was proof that not all he touched was damned and cursed. He had created another life rather than take one. He could feel his calm composure slipping away, his pride be damned, his reputation, his family name; it all meant nothing without them.

"Earl Phantomhive?" inquired a stern voice. Two officers stepped into the room, both holding their hats by the brim and both looking rather smug. It was no secret that Scotland Yard had a great dislike for the Phantomhive family. One of the officers stepped forward.

He was tall with a bald head that gleamed in the dim lighting of the hospital room; the only hair on his head was a bushy, coarse looking mustache which twitched every few seconds. His boots clunked heavily against the wooden floors as he approached the bed.

Vincent did not bother moving, nor making any sign that he heard. Ann, however, had regained her composure and faced the officers. "If you're here to take his statement, it's going to have to wait, he's only just woken up."

"We're not here to take his statement," he said as he smirked and pulled out a piece of paper, one with a familiar seal. "Vincent Alexander Phantomhive, you are hereby under arrest by order of her majesty Queen Victoria."

"Arrest?" Ann shouted. "Have you gone mad? Arrest him for what?" The officer ignored her and approached the bed pulling out a pair of iron shackles. "He's been charged with premeditated arson and murder of his wife and child," the man answered.

Vincent moved finally and he slowly sat up strait then lifted his gaze to stare at the man before him. Though still blinded, he stared into his eyes as a twisted smirk slowly spread over his lips. The mustached officer's steps faltered; nervously he took a step back.

The Earl was in nothing but a thin gown and bandages, but he had an aura that was anything but frail. Vincent let his senses and self sink into the role he played so well. He hid his fragile state behind the merciless and cunning mask of the Queen's Watchdog.

"Murder hmm?" Vincent said as he tilted his head, resting it on his hand. "I can see it in your eyes, no...I can even smell it. You do not have a single bit of proof that it was my doing."

His smirk stayed in place and he sighed a bit "This is merely a pathetic attempt to besmirch my family name, to discredit me and bring my status down to the dirt like you."

"How dar-," the officer began but was swiftly cut off by Vincent raising his hand. "Don't interrupt me, it isn't good manners," the earl said with a smile. "Now, according to Code 61-3-4, you cannot arrest me while I'm admitted into a hospital. I'm not yours for the taking until my attending physician decides I am fit enough to stand trial."

Angelina watched with amazement and a bit of fright, gone was the kind and friendly man she knew. She was seeing his true colors, his real nature. For a wild moment she wondered if it really could have been him, but with a shake of her head she dismissed those thoughts. Vincent loved his family more than his own life; he would never throw it away.

"My patient, as I already told you, is not fit to even be receiving visitors let alone going off to stand trail." Ann said, stepping forward and standing in front of Vincent's bed with her arms crossed. "You need to leave; you'll not get what you want today."

The officers both exchanged looks then the mustached one growled and put the shackles away. "When he is released, he is to be put into our custody. Send message when the frail thing is strong enough to stand up," he snarled.

Vincent softly snorted, but did not allow them to goad him into showing emotion. He merely waved at them with a false grin. "Be sure to gather your case, I can assure you this "frail thing" is not something to be taken lightly."

With a grunt the officers turned and left, whispering loudly between themselves. When they were gone, Vincent visibly slumped; he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Ann watched him and had to admire how flawlessly he had dealt with the situation. He had not been angered, had not shown even a single bit of weakness. He was really a perfect man.

"Angelina?"

With a start she snapped out of her mental musings and looked at her patient who merely gazed back at her tiredly. "Yes?

"I'll allow you to keep me in you care until nightfall, and then I want to be released. Please delay announcing it formally until the week is up." Vincent ordered softly, he sank back into the cushioned stack of pillows and sighed wearily. "Don't bother protesting, I'm simply trying to be polite, but if you don't release me I'll merely find another way out."

The doctor chuckled softly and nodded knowing there was no point in fighting him. "Where will you go?" she asked, she turned around when a nurse walked in holding the dressings and water she had requested. Thanking the nurse, she approached his bed setting the items down before getting to work on changing the bandages around the Earl's head.

"It's best if you didn't know," came the short reply.

With a soft, displeased hum she nodded and did not push further. Vincent was glad for the silence, his head was already throbbing.

A knot of anxiety grew in his stomach as he thought of exactly where he was going to go. He was going to see a man that he had once called his best friend, the one who stole his heart as well as shattered it. They only spoke on formal terms when they met, averted their gazes, pretended as if they never had any sort of history between them.

He was going to see is ex-lover. The Undertaker.

* * *

Well there you go. I hope you enjoyed the epilogue. As always please gimme your thoughts and opinions~^^

-M.D Sora


End file.
